


No Pants

by valderys



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's a little freaked out after meeting Hermiod for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Runpunkrun](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Runpunkrun).



> Written as a thank you for Runpunkrun in 2007. It's funny, I don't think the characterisation is _off_ exactly - just not as I would write them normally. I don't know what I was thinking!

"No pants, Rodney!"

"Yes, thank you for your masterly statement of the obvious, Major Xenophobe, now how about you get out of here. I have work to do."

"That's Lieutenant Colonel Xenophobe to you. And anyway…"

Rodney looked up from the schematics he was analysing, to see Maj… Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, scuffing his toe on the decking like a little boy. Rodney rolled his eyes.

"I realise that sharing a ship with a member of the Asgard seems to have unreasonably perturbed you, Colonel, but I fail to see why his pants or lack of pants, have anything to do with the situation."

Sheppard did that weird almost pouty thing, and tipped his head to one side. Rodney tried, and failed, to ignore the jump in his stomach that Sheppard trying to be winsome always caused. Really, Rodney ought to throw him a tin of tuna, rub his ears and be done with it. He was as screwed now as the day Mr Flibble walked in his window in Toronto, and sat down on his laptop. Rodney sighed.

"Come here," he said, closing that laptop's many-times successor, and snapping his fingers.

Sheppard looked sullen, like he didn't really know what Rodney wanted, and Rodney refrained from rolling his eyes again. Honestly. If he'd wanted these histrionics, or the assumption he could read minds, then he could just have stayed lusting after Colonel Carter, or any one of another dozen bimbos.

Then Sheppard looked at the door, made an annoyed noise when it didn't automatically lock snugly, and tried the handle instead. It was locked. What did he think, that Rodney was a _moron_?

John then – and only then – slouched over to Rodney's workbench. Rodney's mouth went dry just from watching him, and he forgot his annoyance. John leaned against the bench, and then smirked at Rodney through his lashes. God, what was Rodney _thinking_? He didn't want a hundred bimbos – or a thousand! He had this, all to himself.

Urgently, Rodney grabbed John's belt loops and reeled him in, aiming unerringly for the pulse point on his neck. His temple got scraped by John's afternoon stubble, and Rodney shifted, trying to avoid beard-burn, which, let's face it, would be terribly embarrassing, wherever he ended up with it. John made a 'mmm-hmm' noise, and lifted his chin, which Rodney correctly interpreted as meaning, 'yeah, that's right, come on, just there'. Amazing how little needed to be conveyed by actual words if you were one Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.

But then John moved, and not in the good way. Surprised, Rodney lifted his head to see John shift restlessly, and look away.

"Hey, this pants-less thing has really got you bothered, hasn't it?" he tried, wondering slightly at this people-reading ability he seemed to have developed when it came to certain stubborn idiots.

"Because they're _alien_, Rodney," said John, in a voice that was definitely, absolutely not meant to be a whine.

"Hello? Another galaxy? Spaceships? What gave it away?"

"But aliens… bugs… they're dangerous. That's all."

John was tense in his arms, the mood – if there'd been a mood – all shot to hell.

"Hey, hey…" said Rodney, drawing his arms up John's back, and carding one hand through his hair. Hell, maybe John really was a cat in another life, because he relaxed into the caress, and his features smoothed out. At least then he had the grace to look sheepish.

"It's just… There's the Wraith… We've never met a _good_ alien," said John, a plaintive note in his voice.

"And I suppose you want nothing less than Hermiod wearing a white hat and offering to join the posse?"

Rodney paused for a moment with that image in his mind. For some reason Hermiod developed Jimmy Stewart's drawl. He shook his head.

John looked annoyed, but probably, on balance, not with Rodney. "I know it doesn't make any sense."

Except that it did – experience maketh the man, and all of that. John had no visceral reason to trust Hermiod, and whole lot of them that told him 'aliens equal bad'. What John needed was a distraction. Rodney slid down a hand and cupped him through his pants. John drew in a sharp breath, fingers tightening on Rodney's arms.

"Think of it this way – pants-less aliens have no way to do this…" said Rodney, and drew a nail lightly up the fabric.

John's eyes went dark, blown wide. Rodney decided to accept his many talents had their uses, and that it was absolutely nothing to do with John getting turned on by the thought of Hermiod, in _any_ context. He hoped.

"Yeah," said John, hoarsely, "Pity about that."

"And it also means," said Rodney, "That they would have no use for me doing _this_."

He slid onto his knees.

Nuzzling material, and rapidly developing heat, Rodney looked up and allowed his smile to show. This time John smiled back without the pout, and Rodney thought, score one for the home team.

Of course, the inevitable paranoia continued in his mind, if John now ended up associating the Asgard with blowjobs, then he would only have himself to blame. Although he'd take that risk, Rodney decided, if only he could have this, and this… and _this_.

He got on seriously with the task of rendering another being pants-less.


End file.
